


The Perfect Host

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frerard, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A criminal on the run cons his way into the wrong dinner party where the host is anything but ordinary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Host

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the movie "The Perfect Host"  
> This is my 4th fanfiction ever and the first time writing Frerard. Please bear with me and my grammar mistakes.

Gerard stopped the car abruptly, the police sirens now only a vague sound far off in the distance. The chase had been a close call; he had nearly been caught up to several times, the police cars trying to block the roads. Fortunately the Goddess of Luck seemed to be on his side today. That or the cops in this town sucked. Probably the latter, since Gerard never had been a very fortunate person. After having driven in circles a few times, trying to shake the police cars off his trail, he’d found a small side road almost going unnoticed in the dusk. That had been enough to escape the police – For now. 

Opening the driver’s door, Gerard stumbles gracelessly out of the car onto the stone pavement, a pang shooting up through his right leg when it hits the ground, reminding him of the bleeding wound from a 9mm police pistol. 

**“Stalling in an alley is not a good idea when chased by cops, Gerard. “** He mutters to himself, wincing slightly when he heaves himself up from the cold ground, a hand pressed over the tender area of his thigh. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t actually thought they’d seen him run into the dark alley, and he certainly hadn’t foreseen they’d start shooting at him, no questions asked. Getting to his car with a bleeding leg had been difficult, but desperation had numbed out the pain for a while. Enough for the adrenaline to kick in and work its magic, making his brain and body cooperate on survival mode. But now he could feel the searing pain, starting from the tips of his toes almost reaching the roots of his hair. 

Taking a deep, calming breath and slicking his red hair away from his sweat-covered face, Gerard inspects his surroundings, trying to figure out where he is. Clearly he was in a residential neighbourhood when looking at the houses. None of them looked familiar though, they were all pristine, white and fucking huge, with their iron wrought fences and tall copper beeches. Gerard wouldn’t be surprised if they all had their own private swimming pool, maybe even a mini Jacuzzi. 

People living the typical apple-pie life, with their shiny cars and fake self-importance. 

Either way, this sort of neighbourhood, despite how much he detests it, is the perfect hideout from a fugitive. At least it will be if he plays his cards right. 

Limping down the street, his car momentarily forgotten, he begins searching various houses mailboxes, checking for anything he can use to convince these rich snobs to make him stay at the house for a while. 

**“Oh well, if my words won’t allow me inside I can always point a gun at their face and force them to house me, right?”**

Patting his waist to make sure the stolen gun is still there, Gerard huffs out a bitter laugh.  
 _How did I even end up in this situation? All fucking Mikey’s fault. Making the big brother take the fall for his shenanigans. Go figure._

After searching through several mailboxes with no luck, Gerard stops in front of a white iron wrought fence, half covered in green ivy and hollyhocks, leading into a house much smaller than all the other houses on the road, although no less pompous-looking. 

Momentarily feeling dizzy, his right leg throbbing with the reminder of the blood slowly seeping through his torn jeans and down his leg, Gerard bites his lower lip, willing himself to ignore the pain and carry on; maybe this house would be different. He would hate to be forced to draw his gun and force people to let him in. 

Taking a deep breath, Gerard sticks his hand into the mailbox, retrieving a postcard. On the front of the postcard is a picture of the opera house in Sydney, clearly indicating it’s from overseas. Turning the postcard over and reading the content, a small hopeful smile lights up on his face. Gerard is in no doubt that he can use this to his advantage, a plan already taking form in his head. 

_Dear Frank,_  
 _As a good sister I promised you I’d write, so write I will._  
 _Sydney is A-MA-ZING; I’ve already met a lot of interesting people and seen a lot of fascinating places. I even got to hold a koala yesterday!_  
 _Really wish you could be here with me though, but I know how busy you are, attending university and entertaining your own little ‘crowd of people’. Tell them hello from me! I’ll keep this short since I myself am busy, but I’ll make sure to write you later this month._  
 _Love,_  
 _Clara._

Stuffing the postcard in his back pocket, Gerard pushes the buzzer on the white fence, hoping to God this “Frank” is home and willing to play a guest free host to a wounded man on the run.


End file.
